The story of you is a tale of woe—
I collected her things, all safely been stown.
When we first met, my mother taught me to sew,
and with your blood, I must let her go.

There's a pretty purple floating tissue,
A winter coat that I have made for you,
To keep you warm and happy someday you'll be freezing.
There's a weaving of friendship at the sleeves,
And a few kind wishes for you to live,
Hidden in the creases on the strings under your head.

The lining is no gold,
I sewed as I was told,
But I made it yours only.
And you can make it black,
And you can make it crack,
But it will be yours only.

Embroidements of laughter at the seams,
Tainted with your words and voice in my dreams,
To keep your lips and eyes pleated and sparkling.
You can wear it whenever you feel cold,
The silk gets better when it's growing old,
And be sure the shades of your heart and his won't fade.

The lining is my heart,
You wore it from the start,
And you made it yours only.
And I could keep it there,
And I could give or share,
But it will be yours only.

So come out in the snow walking on your hands,
I will try to keep you warm 'til the end,
This coat is the love I have sewed for you, my friend.

Life is not a tapestry
It is a single thread
The people are the knots and kinks
Who just get in the way of things
Of Mother Earth's sewing machine